


No Use Crying Over Spilt Ice Cream

by Tonight_At_Noon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff, Ice Cream Parlors, Meet-Cute, avengers infinity war never happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 04:19:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14927018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tonight_At_Noon/pseuds/Tonight_At_Noon
Summary: Darcy Lewis is the kind of the girl to ask the Winter Soldier if he likes ice cream.





	No Use Crying Over Spilt Ice Cream

**Author's Note:**

> I have an extreme case of writer's block. I make no promises about this drabble. 
> 
> Regardless, enjoy.

The parlour was quiet. Empty save for the small baby and her teenaged father, and the unhappy, apathetic girl behind the counter of frozen desserts. It was nearly midday. The hours tended to tick by slowly when she was between jobs, which was more often than not since she had parted ways with Jane.

When she saw him standing with his back to the window of the small shop, she was dozing with her salted caramel cone at the row of seats by the front, long window. He was wearing a sleeved t-shirt that hid his mechanical arm well and a pair of running shorts. Sneakers and a baseball cap. There was no hair peeking beneath the hat – he must have had it cut after his time in that cryogenic chamber she had read so much about in the news.

She didn’t know how, exactly, she recognised him. His face, she would understand. It had been plastered over television screens, always right next to Captain America’s, for the last few days. He and his old war buddy had saved twelve people from a burning building in the city. Once he had been deemed a most heinous villain. For years, his name was accompanied by the words “armed and dangerous” and “do not engage; he will not hesitate to rip you in half in front of your entire family.” But now everyone adored him and his scruffy cheeks. They hailed him as a hero. Something, she imagined, he had always wanted to be before HYDRA decided to pick at his brain.

She would know his face anywhere. Blue eyes she secretly longed to swim in. Killer cheekbones she secretly wished would slice the insides of her thighs. Sadness etched into every pore. The type of sadness that no facial cleanser could rid him of.

His back was not so famous. Which really begged the question, how did she know it was him? And why, after she realised it was him, did she hop off of her stool, her ice cream cone still in hand, and exit the shop? What provoked her to leave the comfort of her spot all to approach someone with a seriously strong metal arm and a questionable history?

The bell above the door rang out. It must have startled him – kind of like how it startled her; it was as if she was being carried outside by a foreign source – because he turned around as she stepped on to the boiling, barren sidewalk, the sun assaulting her eyes, and she was suddenly face to face with the Winter Soldier.

He was handsome. More handsome in person than on TV. Was she allowed to think that? Were the remnants of SHEILD going to burst out of the bushes in front of the ice cream place and take her in for a psychological evaluation?

No. He was good looking for a guy four times her age. There was no harm in the thought.

“Do you like ice cream?” she heard herself asking. When he frowned, she lifted her dripping cone as if his confusion stemmed from him not knowing what ice cream was and not the random person asking him a very random question.

“Do I know you?” he said politely, though she sensed his guard had risen. One wrong move and she would be forced to fend off an attack she would most definitely lose. “I don’t mean to be rude. I’ve met a lot of people, but I don’t remember ever seeing you.”

She was oddly insulted by his response. Maybe she wasn’t referenced in as many journals as Jane. Maybe she hadn’t spent time being mind-controlled by Thor’s green brother. But she was Darcy Lewis. Helper. Right-hand woman. Sure, she had left that life behind a couple of years back because she was tired of almost dying, but people involved –  _formerly involved_ – with SHIELD must know her name.

“No,” she said, the word trickling out slowly.

Her turn to frown. It dawned on her how crazy this was. She backed away from him, reaching out behind her for the door handle to the parlour. He stared after her. “No,” she repeated. “I am so sorry. I think they’ve spiked my ice cream with something. You know, something that makes you do really stupid, outrageous things like ask complete strangers if they like ice cream. Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Barnes.”

She was almost safe. Almost able to walk away from the situation with only a mild sense of discomfort nagging at her mind. But then her elbow banged into the sharp tip of the door handle. Naturally. There was a reason SHIELD people didn’t know who she was. Darcy was the klutz. The poli-sci major struggling to find work in the big apple. There was no place for her in the world of reformed monsters and things from outer space.

Her ice cream fell to the dusty sidewalk, splattering her black sandals. She swore loudly as her arm buzzed with the shock of impact.

Engulfed in an embarrassed warmth, Darcy stood frozen still. Her elbow throbbed. She could sense his swimmable eyes on her, piercing her skin not unlike the sharp rays of sunshine that had torn through the ozone layer. She didn’t look at him, though. Several seconds went by where neither party said anything. Darcy was beginning to wonder if this was how she died – locked in this position, too afraid to move for fear of making an even bigger fool of herself – but, like he did those people burning away in that apartment building, the former bad guy rescued her.

His body blocked the sun as he stepped forward. Bracing herself for a mocking, cruel smile, Darcy glanced through her curtain of long, thick hair to find his pink lips pulled in a smile that sang of sympathy and indulgence.

She wanted to both break down in tears and a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Upon reflection, she settled for an awkward, hiccuped giggle.

“These are new shoes,” she said. What else was there to say? Aside from anything else, of course. She was Darcy, though. She had to remind herself of that sometimes. She was just … Darcy.

“I’m sure the ice cream will clean off with some soap and water,” the giant man with the robotic arm assured her.

She knew that. “I knew that.” Darcy shuffled back, careful this time to avoid the door. She imagined this was how the Tin Man felt whenever Dorothy oiled his joints. Finally, she was free to move again. “Look, I am sorry, Mr. Barnes. Have a happy rest of your day.”

“It’s Bucky.”

He said it just as she opened the door to the parlour. The bell chimed. She did not go inside.

Letting the door close, she twisted her neck. He had stepped closer to her, and that smile had lost all of its sympathy. Pure sugar melted over his lips.

“Bucky,” she said. She held out her hand. He took it, and she felt sticky all over. “I’m Darcy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Darcy." 

"I’ll bet. So, ice cream,” she said.

His dark eyebrows went up. “What about it?”

“Do you like it? Because I happen to have just lost my ice cream cone in a freak accident and there just so happens to be this wonderful ice cream shop right in front of us.”

Bucky – what a name; she preferred it to the Winter Soldier, and she bet he did too – continued smiling as he lowered his brows. The bell rang once again. “I like ice cream,” he said, following her through the doorway.


End file.
